


Flesh of My Flesh, Blood of My Blood

by HandsAcrossTheSea



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Body Worship, Bottom Dean, Come Swapping, Comeplay, Coming Untouched, M/M, Medical Kink, Praise Kink, Sounding, Top Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 16:40:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13322244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HandsAcrossTheSea/pseuds/HandsAcrossTheSea
Summary: Sam's the only religion that Dean's ever really believed in.





	Flesh of My Flesh, Blood of My Blood

**Author's Note:**

> The plans for this fic were actually written down well over a year ago, and I figured it was high time to finally make it into something than an idea hiding in my notebook. As always, be careful if you want to try sounding. It's a gnarly, fun experience but definitely isn't for everyone.
> 
> One day, you shall pry these two being so grossly in love with each other away from me - but today is not that day, and next week isn't looking good either. I just want them to have each other and not have to worry, that's all. Let them kiss and love each other in peace, dammit.
> 
> As always, a huge shoutout to my creative brain trust for their constant, unselfish enabling and encouragement. I yell about fictional boys at them quite a lot, and out of the goodness of their hearts they continue to listen. I love y'all to pieces <3

            “Dean, _let it go._ ”

            Sam snarls at him even harder this time, and for a moment, Dean is convinced he’s going to hit him – except Dean would hit back, regardless of trying to keep the car on the road, and Sam can damn well bet it would be twice as hard.   

            “Fuck no, Sam, not after that shit.”

            “It’s a fucking car!”  Sam yells, and Dean flinches.  Sam’s voice is loud in the confined space of the front seat, feeling even smaller from how fucking pissed they are at each other. Combine that with the goddamn snow and ice that they’ve been traveling in for the last hundred miles, and Dean is ready to fucking kill someone.

            “I _just_ finished the body work on it, Sam, come on.  You could have _tried_ to be more careful.”

            “Or what, stay stuck ass-deep in that fucking snowbank?”  Sam’s expression is half angry, half incredulous.  “Next time, I’m fucking walking.”

            Dean starts to reply, thinks about it, tries again, and finally gives up.  “So goddamn clumsy.”  He knows Sam hears it, but Sam’s turned his head away, no doubt so he doesn’t actually kill Dean where he sits.  Christ, he’s got every right to be furious, Dean knows, but… Sam had punched a great big hole in the wheel well with the shovel he’d been using to dig them out of a snowbank after they’d spun out.  Dean supposes they should be grateful they aren’t dead, but it’s just one more fucking thing to add to the list of shit that’s pissed him off over the last few days.  The last stages of their hunt had been fucking _rough,_ both mentally and physically on them.  They’re both still recovering, and in the meantime have managed to get so completely on each other’s nerves that it very may well end in a fight.

            At least Sam did get covered in slush and mud, which _almost_ makes up for the hole now in the back left wheel well.  Motherfucker should have been more careful.

            “Bar,” Dean Growls, and Sam ignores him.  “Sam, _bar._ ”

            Sam rounds on him, teeth clinched and eyes burning.  “Why the _fuck_ do you want to go to a bar?”  Fucking hell, if looks could kill, Dean would be _toast_ right now.  Dean tries to glare back but he has to keep his eyes fixed on the road.  His grip on concentration is tenuous at best, and Sam is so _close…_

“To get the hell away from _you._ ”

            “Right back at you, Dean.”  Sam angrily pulls out his phone, jaw trembling with fury – it actually makes Dean’s heart hurt just a little, because he knows good and well that Sam’s just as injured by this as he is.  One thing he tries not to do quite so much is fight with Sam.  Snipe, cajole, argue, fine – they can handle that. But a fight, like this? 

            It’s been a while since it’s happened, and it fucking hurts worse than the bruises still healing on his ribs.

            Trouble is, they have nothing and no one else to take it out on, and Dean’s at the end of his rope.  Between this ridiculous six week hunt that was supposed to have been a two day thing, the fucking winter storm they’ve driven into, and the fact that the heat on the fucking car stopped working four days ago, yeah – Dean’s done.  Absolutely, completely done.

            And they’re still four hundred miles from Lebanon.

            From _home._

“Six miles.”  Sam shoves his phone in Dean’s face, making him nearly hit his head on the window as he jerks it away from the bright screen.  “Happy?”

            “Fuck off, Sam.”  Dean bats his arm out of his field of vision and tightens his grip on the wheel, trying to keep as far away from Sam as possible.  It’s not that he even wants alcohol, just space.  God, if they both get drunk and _this_ continues, they will put each other in the hospital.  Sam’s muscles have gotten fucking bigger from digging so many graves over the last few weeks, and at any other time, Dean would admire them, worship them, praise them with his mouth until Sam’s ready to flip him over and pin him with his forearms alone.

            Right now he’s actually afraid of his little brother, and those strikes don’t fucking miss twice. 

            Sam gathers his damp jacket closer around him, biting his lip and trying his hardest to maintain his pissed-off look.

            It’s a shame that Dean can see right through it, past the hurt and the harsh attitude to the profound exhaustion that robs Sam’s eyes of their seemingly endless light.  The collar of his flannel is pulled to one side, the four-day old hickie Dean put there just now fading to a dull purple.

            Dean doesn’t say anything else, and Sam doesn’t look at him.  Christ, how many times has a stupid argument snowballed into something far larger and uglier?  It’s not like Dean hasn’t fucked up the Impala even worse than that on multiple occasions entirely because of his own doing, and Sam’s intentions were in the right place.  Who else was going to help them out of their predicament?  AAA?

            Dean tries his hardest to turn his brain off and simply focus on driving.

            They make it to the bar – Dean doesn’t even know the name, can’t see it for the snow – and Sam’s out of the car before Dean’s even put it in park, his bag slung over his shoulder.  Dean lets him get clear, waiting until Sam’s twenty feet ahead of him before he follows his already-obscured footsteps to the front door.

            Even though the weather is horrid, Dean walks in to find the place packed, no doubt because of the fire roaring in one corner and the draw of warming booze.  Sam’s already at the bar, ordering what looks like an Irish coffee.  Dean watches his broad back, his shoulders slumped with weariness.  Dean shoves his hands a little harder into the pockets of his coat and watches Sam stalk off to a table near the fire, sparing Dean one angry glance before he sits down with a “stay the fuck away” from me expression on his face.

            Fine.  Let him stew in his anger for a while.  Dean isn’t looking for a fistfight, and he certainly doesn’t want Sam to be his opponent. He swore a long time ago he’d stop hitting him, no matter how pissed he got.  Sam’s his fucking _soulmate,_ and that should be enough to stop him from raising his fist at him.

            But he’s also his little brother, and that side of Sam’s been showing itself an awful lot the last couple days.  Yeah, Dean loves the shit out of him but sometimes, Sam gets right under his skin and doesn’t fucking let go.

            Dean takes his beer and heads for the pool tables, deliberately not thinking about how fucking much Sam thinks he hates him right now.

            He hasn’t hated Sam a day in his life, no matter how angry he gets.  Hell, it’s all he can do to not keep looking at Sam, his nose buried in his laptop (this place has Wi-Fi, apparently) and cupping his mug like it’s the one single source of warmth in the world.

            Dean turns his back to him and tears his mind away from how well their bodies fit together, how fucking _warm_ Sam is after he’s fucked Dean’s brains out and wraps himself around Dean like a muscle-bound grapevine.

            He misses his first three balls, the cue slipping right past them.  He downs his beer in one go, stomps back to the bar for another, and doesn’t look at Sam.  The girl he’s playing with backs off, and Dean doesn’t even watch her ass as she slips past him.  He could do it, flirt and tease and _make_ Sam look at him but…

            Dean doesn’t have it in him, not tonight. For that matter, Dean has it in him less and less these days.  He doesn’t try to get Sam’s attention like that anymore, not because he doesn’t have Sam’s interest – fuck, when things are good?  They can’t keep their hands off of each other.  Ever since they got pierced in New Orleans last year, it’s opened up about a million different ways to touch each other, and Dean is all too aware of the black body jewelry Sam’s been favoring lately.  The studs in his hips look fucking _hot,_ especially since Sam’s lost a good deal of his tan for the winter, making the contrast all the better.

            He resets the balls on the table, aims a little more carefully, and feels more of his anger slip away.

            It isn’t long before it’s replaced by a mix of guilt and anger at himself.  This isn’t what they should be doing, not when _they_ have been doing so well for so long.  Dean likes it when it’s good, when he and Sam are perfectly in sync and it’s nothing but hunts, beer on the side of a grave as a body burns, eyeing each other in their suits (which even when it’s a bad cut, hand _exceptionally_ well on Sam) and then dealing with whatever heaven or hell decides to throw at them.

            It’s as close to the good life as Dean’s ever going to get, and it isn’t remotely close to “good”- but after all the shit they’ve been through?  Dean’s going to fucking enjoy kissing his little brother’s hot mouth and sucking his cock until he’s cross-eyed, and saying fuck you to whomever has a problem with it.

            He excuses himself from his game and grabs his beer, half-empty already.  He snags another one for Sam and approaches his table, studying his expression. 

            Sam doesn’t even look angry anymore, just… defeated.  Lonely. He’s sitting with his chin cradled in his right hand, the fingers of his left on his mousepad.  Dean can tell by the way he’s half-looking at the screen that whatever it is, it’s just something to distract himself.

            “Sammy?”

            Sam looks up, his brow furrowed at Dean.  “Yeah?”

            Alright, so maybe Sam is still a little pissed, and Dean understands.  “Can I sit down?”

            Sam nudges the other chair with his foot towards Dean and looks back to his laptop.  “Don’t look at me like I’m walking out on you – decided it was too cold and too far to walk.”

            “And what makes you think I wouldn’t have followed?”  Dean pushes the full beer towards Sam, and he takes it as a good sign when Sam brings it to his mouth and takes a long, deep pull that makes his throat bob.  Dean drinks from his own just so that he has something to do other than lean over and lick Sam’s neck.

            “I know – that’s what made me reconsider.”

            Sam finally looks at him, and Dean can see that his eyes are greenish gray from how the light of the fire reflects on them.  “That the only thing?”

            “Well…”  Sam closes his laptop and leans back in his chair, his eyelids cutting off his somewhat frosty gaze.  Dean leans in further, ready to listen.

            Or he’s waiting for Dean to speak first.

            Probably that.

            _Definitely_ that.

            “I was out of line.  _Way_ out of line, it’s…”

            “Not a big deal?”  Sam closes the gap and rests his chin back in his hand, picking at the loose, smooth tabletop.  “I know.”

            “And… thanks for digging us out.  Stuck here is better than stuck on the side of the road in the cold.” 

            Sam smiles, just a little.  “Only thing you complain about more than the car is being cold.  Was doing myself a service, that’s all.”

            “Yeah, right, like you weren’t looking for a chance to show off _again_. _”_ Dean smiles back, and dares to put his hand on top of Sam’s.

            “Show off?  Dean, I was digging, that’s all.”

            “I watched you move the fucking car with your bare hands, Sammy, that wasn’t necessary.”

            “The jack’s still broken, what else did you have in mind?  Summon Cas and ask him to give us a push?”  Sam’s grin this time is toothier, more… dimpled.

            “Sammy, c’mon – we have _way_ too much pride than to ask him to dig us out of a hole.  Not when you can just…”

            “Lift us out of it?”

            Dean laughs, and Sam even manages a chuckle.

            Yeah, they’re fine.  Still cold and damp, but fine.

            “I’m sorry, too, by the way.” Sam drinks the last of his beer and licks his lips to catch the last little taste of it – and makes damn sure that Dean sees his tongue.  “And I’ll help you fix it when we get home, alright?”

            “It’s a date.”

            Sam leans over the table and brushes his lips against Dean’s, just enough to make Dean feel warm for the first time since that morning.

            And it’s not enough.

            “Um… you uh, want to…”  Dean gestures towards the door, not entirely sure what he’s seeking – aside from getting _more Sam_ as soon as possible. 

            “Outside?”  Sam isn’t saying no, not yet anyway.

            “Bathroom’s single occupant only, and the car, well… you know how it is.”

            Dean hates that they’re both too big now to fuck around comfortably in the backseat – it had been a hell of a rush when Sam was sixteen.  Well… it still is, but they aren’t little anymore and Dean’s joints appreciate a bed _so_ much more after he and Sam fuck.

            Sam nods, looking behind Dean.  “Don’t think it’s actually snowing right now.”

            “And the wind’s stopped.”  Dean stands up, stretching and loosening himself up.  Shit, he hadn’t realized just how stiff he was until that moment.

            Between being almost forty and getting the shit beat out of him on a regular basis, he’s honestly surprised he isn’t in worse shape than he is.

            And Sam can talk all he wants about being fit, but Dean knows for a fact that he’s been cutting his morning run back more and more over the last few months.  Things just don’t fix themselves as fast as they used to, and there the age difference doesn’t exactly make much of, well, a difference anymore.

            Sam rises too, shoving his laptop into his bag.  “There’s an alley behind the building, and I don’t think anyone is smoking on the patio tonight…”  He looks at Dean, dragging his gaze over his body from the ground up.  “What’d you have in mind?”

            Dean pokes his tongue into his cheek, just long enough for Sam to pick up on his signal.

            He’s grabbed so fast by Sam that he actually gets a little dizzy as he’s pulled out of the warm, yeasty-scented bar into the now still, cold night.

            Sam was right about it having stopped snowing but the air is still fucking bitter, especially after being inside the bar for so long.  Dean huddles closer to Sam and slips his fingers into Sam’s left hand, rubbing to try and feel a ring that isn’t there.  Sam squeezes his fingers back and they stop halfway for another kiss – this one lasting longer, full of promise and heat and something so deeply right that it pulls at the edges of Dean’s soul.

            “Hey, no stopping,” Dean murmurs, and slides his free hand under Sam’s jacket to the small of his back.  “I’ve got a mission here.”

            “Makes it sound an awful lot like work, don’t you think?”  Sam pulls away, and it’s not ten seconds before they’re shrouded by the dark between the two buildings.

            “With as thick as you are, it is – but hey, at least it’s work I enjoy.”

            Sam rolls his eyes and laughs, and the sound of it makes Dean’s heart beat a little faster.

            Dean fully expects to be shoved up against the wall in that sweetly rough way that he’s come to understand is just how Sam does things – but not this time.  God, this time Sam is incredibly gentle about bringing their bodies together, his arms wrapped around Dean’s back so that the back of his head is cupped by his right hand, tilting his mouth towards Dean’s and connecting with this kiss that sends a rush of bourbon-warm desire right down to the soles of his feet.

            Sam is trying to fucking _seduce_ him into an already guaranteed thing, and Dean gets so fucking hard because of it that he’s not about to try and stop him.

            Dean disentangles his right arm enough to slip his hand between Sam’s legs and cups him, feeling the long, hot line of his cock pointing down his left leg.  He rubs his palm over the tip, making Sam groan into his mouth.  Dean’s mouth opens immediately when he feels Sam’s tongue against his lips, _fuck yes_ he wants more of that, all of the taste of Sam that he can get.

            But it is still fucking cold out here, and Dean isn’t going to hold out that long for getting what he wants.

            Sam lets himself be moves as Dean switches their places, backing him against the wall and turning the kiss up another notch in heat, licking and curling his tongue against Sam’s until he feels his cock fucking _throb_ through his pants.  Christ, Sam’s bound to be good and wet by now – Dean certainly is – and it doesn’t take another minute before Dean is kissing his way down Sam’s clothed body until he’s on his knees in the freezing cold snow.

            “Feed me you cock, baby boy,” Dean whispers, kissing at the impressive bulge he’s helped create.

            Sam runs his fingers along the edge of Dean’s stubbled jaw, looking right through him.  There’s a spark in his eyes right now, one that Dean only really sees at home when there’s no one else around, something that’s reserved for Dean and Dean alone – and one that is only ever present when it’s a moment of deep, _hot_ intimacy.

            Dean’s pretty sure that one of those looks will be what well and truly finishes him one day, just because it’s almost too fucking much to look at.

            “Yeah, Dean, I… yeah.”  Sam unzips his fly and Dean leans back just a little, keeping his hands on the backs of Sam’s warm thighs.  He licks his lips, getting the exact same rush he’s been feeling for two decades now at just the thought of sucking Sam’s cock.  It’s always something that makes his guts melt, the moment Sam’s long, thick cock flops out of his underwear for _Dean,_ trusting him completely to _worship._

And fuck all if that isn’t exactly what Dean is going to do right here in this snow-covered alley.

            “So fuckin’ hot, Sammy.”  Dean doesn’t use his hands, just his mouth, letting the warm, wet flat of his tongue be the first thing that Sam feels as he closes his lips around the head.  Sam’s fucking _dripping_ precome, and Dean tastes a fresh burst as he swallows him down further, eased along by the gentle movement of Sam’s foreskin in his mouth.  Dean doesn’t taste so much as feel the bump of his frenum piercing – hot spot number one – and decides that he’ll tease there later, when they have nothing but time and each other.

 Sam doesn’t breath, barely moving as Dean lets physics do the work of sliding his cock down his throat.

            He doesn’t stop until his nose is buried in Sam’s underwear, inhaling the strong, manly scent of musk and road sweat.  God, it kills him, that Sam freely allows him to _do this,_ lets him take and touch and taste however much of him that Dean wants or needs.  He flicks his eyes up at Sam’s face, watching his expression as he holds him in his mouth.

            Sam looks to be just as in awe, no matter that this is the millionth time they’ve shared this, that it’s in an alleyway somewhere between St. Louis and Lebanon.

            “Feels so fucking good, Dean, so, so _good._ ”

            Dean squeezes his thighs and lets Sam go until he’s got a little more room to work.  His eyes are starting to water from the cold as much as Sam’s girth stretching his jaw – but it isn’t going to fucking stop him.

            He hums agreement, and starts to bob his head, closing his eyes and letting his mind go.  Sam’s fingers twist and bury into his hair, two days unwashed and streaky with gel.  Dean groans when Sam pulls and it burns his scalp, completely unable to control doing it thanks to Dean.  Dean knows his mouth is good – _really_ good, knows every little trick and swipe of his tongue just makes Sam even harder.

            Sam starts to fuck his face, pumping his hips to meet Dean halfway – Dean backs himself off so that Sam can, loosening his suction so that his brother can _take._ It gets Dean so fucking hot that when he’s got his cock in his mouth, Sam can’t fucking hold himself back and uses Dean’s mouth like this.  Dean’s eyes are leaking tears freely now, dropping his left hand from Sam’s thigh to get his own cock out.  He’s dripping just as much as Sam, using it to slick up the head of his cock, keeping his focus there because there’s no fucking point in drawing this out, going right for maximum pleasure so that when Sam comes, he’s right there with him.

            “Fuck, Dean, wanna bust on your face.”

            Dean nods, not even the slightest bit sorry he’s in agreement.  Even a hint of Sam’s fucking filthy porn mouth is enough to get Dean to say yes, even to something relatively mild like that.

            Of course, it helps that Sam cleans him up with his tongue _every single time._

Sam doesn’t even have to lay a hand on himself, his orgasm catching him as he’s pulled back out of Dean’s mouth, the head lying across Dean’s lips.  Thick, warm pulses of come coat Dean’s nose and forehead, running down his cheeks and neck.  Dean closes his eyes to it (it’s not worth the burn, no matter how hot it is) and comes all over the snow between Sam’s feet, the last of his tension draining away and quickly getting replaced with the ease of things finally being _right_ again.

            Sam hauls him to his feet and kisses him hungrily, his tongue sloppy and greedy as he scoops the taste of his own body from Dean’s mouth.  Dean opens wide, fingers buried in Sam’s long hair to keep them pressed close, rubbing off the last aftershocks of his own orgasm against Sam’s thigh.

            Jesus _Christ_ that was worth it.

            “When we get home, Sammy,” Dean clears his throat, satisfied with just how fucking _raspy_ Sam’s cock made his voice – “I’m laying you out on our bed and take you apart with my mouth, inch by inch.”  He follows up his promise with another kiss, and Sam tries to fuse them together, his warm, heavy cock catching against Dean’s and making him gasp.

            “Don’t think I won’t reciprocate, Dean.”  Sam finally gets his upstairs brain engaged again, and presses their foreheads together.  “I fucking _want you,_ shit, Dean, I…”

            “I know, baby, I know.  And the second we walk in that door tomorrow, we aren’t going _anywhere._   That sound good, Sam?  Me and you, snowed in, nothing but each other?”

            Hell, _Dean_ is turned on by the prospect of quality alone time with his brother.

            “Yes – but this time, let’s get supplies _before_ we commit to that plan.  Last time was kind of rough, remember?”

            “Look, using olive oil wasn’t _that_ bad…”

            Sam grins, kisses him again, and it’s all that Dean can do to not jump in the car right now and drive straight on til morning.

___

            Dean’s need for coffee – a _lot_ of it – finally transcended his hesitance over leaving the warmth of their bed.  It had hurt, to leave Sam’s arms but Dean’s got to have something pumping through his veins other than raw, deep lust.

            Six straight days of sleep, sex, eat, repeat is starting to take a toll on him and Sam both, and the day before they had called a forty eight hour truce.  How the hell Sam’s prostate – or for that matter, his own – has anything left to give is beyond him.  Even the witch’s fertility brew had lost its magic after day three, and the supplies needed for another batch aren’t easy to get this time of year.

            But it had made for an absolutely _spectacular_ run of creampies, and Dean isn’t about to complain about having something like fourteen loads fucked deep into his ass, not when Sam had found some sort of unreal, untapped stamina and gone complete and utter service top on him for most of his waking hours ever since they returned home from their trip.

            Dean just wishes his body didn’t _hurt_ so goddamn much after that run.  He loves having sex with Sam, always has, but the fact remains it takes longer for both of them to recover from that sort of marathon than it did when Dean was twenty five.  His ass, for as good as Sam’s made it feel, is sore as hell and is still red from all the handprints Sam’s left on it.  His neck and chest are a roadmap of bruises and bite marks, the darker areas plainly denoting Sam’s favorite places to put his lips.

            He’s fairly sure that they won’t ever fade.

            It’s blissfully warm in the library, made better by one of Sam’s plaids and his bathrobe knotted loosely at the front.  He think these are his sweatpants he’s wearing (if they aren’t, oh well) and his feet are in slippers that are half a size too big – definitely Sam’s.  He isn’t in the slightest bit bothered, not when his body is still singing from constant, _electric_ contact with Sam.

            But he does want to take just a while for himself, recharge some more, and then round up Sam for a couple of moves in their “have yet to watch” list.

            Sam’s laptop is sitting on the table in front of him, and he drags it over to him next to his coffee cup.  He taps in Sam’s password (codependent, but in Enochian – Dean can’t disagree with it in the least) and goes to Netflix.  He’s content to watch more of Star Trek: Voyager until Sam wakes up.  Sam doesn’t particularly care for it, so Dean can watch undisturbed most of the time.

            And for four hours, he does.  He doesn’t even bother to look and see what time it is, just sips his coffee, finally makes a couple of eggs, and dares to let the feeling of bone-deep satisfaction settle in.

            It’s not until he hears Sam’s almost impossibly soft footsteps approaching the library from the far end that his concentration on his show is broken, just in time to see Sam rubbing the sleep from his eyes with his left hand, his own steaming mug of coffee in hand.

            Dean takes a second to just look at him, checking Sam over like he does fifty times a day.  All of that sex and rest has returned the color to Sam’s cheeks and banished the haunted, exhausted look that tends to settle on his face when they go on long hunts.  He’s dressed comfortably too, wearing a nearly threadbare Led Zeppelin t-shirt (Dean got him that what, four Christmases ago?) and sweatpants that are _very_ definitely Dean’s.

            They are pornographically tight on Sam, and it’s plainly obvious Sam’s not wearing any underwear.  Dean makes himself close his mouth and take a sip of coffee so that he stops staring at the outline of Sam’s cock.

            Thankfully Sam is still bleary eyed – but the way he stretches and makes his shirt ride up to show off the ruby red studs in his hips is a little _too_ calculated.

            “You’re up early,” Sam mumbles, and comes to sit to Dean’s left.  “Thought you’d still be asleep.”  Sam leans in for a kiss that lingers and warms Dean up even further.  He doesn’t mean to deepen it, really – but there’s never really any other option with Sam but to exactly that, so he parts his lips and touches the tip of his tongue to Sam’s before pulling away.

            “Early?  What time is it?”

            “Little after seven – how long have you been up?”

            Dean looks at his screen, the episode paused about halfway through.  “This is the fifth episode I’ve watched, so… since around two, I guess?”

            “Shit – couldn’t sleep?”  Sam scoots his chair closer, peering at what Dean’s watching.  “Or was I snoring again?”

            “No, no, just… I’d had enough sleep.  And honestly?  I had no idea what time it was.” Dean takes another blessed drink of coffee, letting the warmth piggyback off of Sam’s kiss.  “Besides, I’ve been sleeping just fine.”

            “I’d hope so.”  Sam gives him a _look,_ one that tells Dean their truce might be cut a little short.  “You’ve been working awfully hard the last few days.”

            Dean bites his bottom lip at Sam, returning the heat in his gaze by a factor of four.  Maybe even five.  “Least it’s work I enjoy.”  Dean’s been letting Sam call all the shots, which means _a lot_ of time on his back or Sam’s modified version of doggy style, trapped between Sam’s powerful body and the mattress while Sam breeds the absolute _hell_ out of him.

            “Mmm.”  Sam pushes up the sleeve of Dean’s robe, tracing his fingers along the inside of his forearm.  “Probably should have asked this but uh… how does your ass feel?”

            “Oh it’s sore as hell.”  Dean doesn’t see the need to tell him otherwise, because it’s true.  Sam’s _thick,_ and Dean’s thinking that anal is off the table for a little while longer.  “I love it, Sam, I do but… that cock takes some work.  Always has.”

            “Gotta fuck my big brother just right, don’t I?”

            Dean’s mouth goes dry with the way that Sam says _big brother._

            Christ, Sam’s horny again, and if he keeps that shit up Dean won’t be far behind him.

            His ass isn’t going to be able to handle Sam again for a while – but that doesn’t close off other options.  Dean stands up and looms over Sam, urging him to stand with him.  “Careful what you say, Sammy – might start something you’ll have to finish.”

            “Why do you think I came looking for you?”  This close together, it’s hard to ignore their slight difference in height, and Dean isn’t about to let Sam get the better of him because of it.  “Wanted that hot mouth again, Dean, fuck…”

            “Damn right you do.”  Dean raises the hem of Sam’s shirt so that he can brush his finger over his hipbones, thumbs catching on his pretty little studs.  “Can’t get enough of your big bro’s mouth, can you?”

            Sam shudders and bares his neck, presenting Dean with whatever he wants.  “No.”

            Dean gives Sam a slow, wet kiss, right against the column of his throat.  It isn’t right on the spot Sam wants him, but it’s _close._ “Where do you like it most, Sammy?  Tell your big brother.”  Dean dances all around the spot, his lips working in conjunction with his fingers on Sam’s waist.  Sam is as dry as tinder right now, and Dean intends to light him so that he immolates.

            “On… God, Dean, right, right there.”  Sam offers his ear, and Dean sucks on the tender flesh like it’s his foreskin, biting gently, slowly, _making_ Sam moan.  Sam has so many hot spots from the neck up, each and every one of them capable of bringing him to his knees, if Dean wants that from him.

            “Yeah, Sammy?”  Dean’s voice is at a private, hot whisper, almost as quiet as the drag of him pushing Sam’s sweatpants down.  “Wanna know where _I_ like to taste you most?”

            Sam nods, keeping his hands away from his cock.  Dean doesn’t stop him from rubbing the leaking tip against his body, deciding that Sam needs just a _little_ friction.

            “Tell me, Dean, _please._ ”

            “Think it’s better if I show, you, little brother.”

            Sam shivers again, more intensely as Dean works his way down to the v of Sam’s collar.  His collarbones form this absolutely perfect divot, and Dean kisses along the base of his neck before he pulls Sam’s shirt to one side and licks his way along to Sam’s left shoulder, following the bite marks he’s left there over the last few days.  They’re still sensitive to the dappling, wet heat of Dean’s tongue, each little lick making Sam gasp.

            “Fuck, Dean, don’t… don’t fuckin’ stop.”

            Dean shushes him with a kiss to his deltoid, and reaches around to cup Sam’s ass.  “Wouldn’t dream of it, Sammy.”  Hell, how often does he get Sam like this, putty soft and _begging_?  No, Dean isn’t going to deny him another orgasm – that’s fucking cruel.

            But it certainly doesn’t mean he isn’t going to give Sam one hell of a ride getting there.

            Sam groans as Dean works his way back in the other direction, kissing the sharp protrusion of his collarbone until he’s lavishing the same attention on Sam’s right side.  There aren’t as many bite marks here (Dean favors Sam’s left, for whatever reason) but it still pulls the same reaction from Sam – low, needy moans that make his cock throb and leak all over Dean’s shirt.

            He’s pressed up close enough to Dean now that his cock lies parallel with Dean’s belly, pushing at skin he can’t feel fully.  They’ve gotten so used to the feeling of each other’s naked skin that it feels weird, to not be that close with Sam like this.

            Sam’s half naked anyway – and it really isn’t fair if Dean isn’t either, is it?

            Dean breaks off and drops his robe, barely getting it off along with his shirt before Sam’s got him in another hot, biting kiss, one of those that should only exist in a porno but fuck, _fuck_ if it isn’t real, beautiful, so completely _Sam_ that it moves something deep inside Dean, _fundamentally_ deep.  He feels the naked pull of lust low in his gut, making him rut back against Sam’s body.

            But he isn’t going to give up on the goal he’s set for himself, to finish undoing Sam without touching his cock, and Sam knows it too.

            Sam’s hands land on his chest right as Dean breaks the kiss.  “Wanna play with your tits, big brother.”

            “Fuckin’ do it, Sammy, hard as you want.”

            The first tug at his piercings makes Dean’s vision swim.  What was already sensitive flesh before is now ten times as much, aided by Sam’s eternal fascination with making Dean fucking lose it just by touch.  Sam rolls and pinches, making it difficult for Dean to keep up his focus on Sam’s throat and neck.  They’re in that pocket where each other’s touch is like mutually assured destruction, moving faster and faster towards leaving the other wrung out and breathless.

            So far as ways to leave the body goes, Dean likes this one the best.  That’s what it is, every time he drops to his knees at the temple of his brother’s body.  Sam’s been the only thing he’s worshiped for a long, long time now, and will likely continue to be for as long as he’ll live.

            Sam noses for another kiss, more teeth than tongue.  “’M close, Dean, so… so fucking _close._ ”

            “Tell me what you need, Sammy.”  Dean isn’t far behind, and Sam knows it.  He steps up the intensity of his touch, pinching Dean’s nipples hard enough to where the pain is a little _too_ sharp.

            Sam grabs Dean’s hands and puts them back on his ass, and opens Dean’s mouth with his tongue. 

            When he rubs Sam’s hole, he knows he’s found what Sam wants.  Sam is so fucking _shy_ about asking Dean to touch him there, even when there’s no chance of anyone but Dean knowing about it.  It’s been a thing ever since Sam got back from hell, so, so long ago, after he was re-souled and there was still… a lot of Lucifer left.  He knows Sam was violated for centuries, completely and utterly unable to do anything about it.

            It’s honestly a wonder Sam lets _anyone_ near him like this, much less Dean.

            Dean’s heart breaks a little as Sam moans into his mouth, his cock huge and wet against his hip.  He makes it as good as he can for him, sucking on his tongue and touching that private, special place with as much respect as he can manage, not stopping until Sam is groaning, open-mouthed against Dean as he comes all over Dean’s stomach, white-hot and musk-heavy.

            Sam doesn’t rest for long.

            “Come on my ass Dean.”  It’s not a plea, but a command, and Sam lets himself be spun around and pressed against the table, stripping his shirt off as he turns.  Dean uses his come to coat the top of Sam’s ass, so perfectly muscled and sculpted by countless hours of exersice.  Dean plans to get his time with that part of Sam’s body as well, eat Sam out until he’s crying for release – but later.

            “So gorgeous Sammy, so, so _gorgeous._ ”  Dean wraps his arms around Sam’s waist and holds him, rutting his come-slicked cock against Sam’s ass.  “Prettiest thing I ever saw, little brother, swear you are.”

            Dean comes all over Sam’s back the second their lips touch again, leaving them both damp and sticky with passion.  They’re both going to need a shower before breakfast – but Dean isn’t about to move, not yet.

            Sam takes Dean with him as they sink down on top of the table, bolted down so that it doesn’t move when Dean collapses a little less gracefully next to him.

            “I’m sore,” Sam says, panting as he squirms against the mess on his back.  “I… I think my prostate’s given up.”

            “Speak for yourself, baby boy.”  Dean laughs and tries to turn over to look Sam in the eye.  “But yeah, that was a big fuckin’ load you just busted.”

            “I found some more stuff for the uh… juice.  Took some before I came in here.”

            “There any of it left?” 

            “Plenty – why?”

            Dean grins and rolls over on top of Sam.  “Would you be okay with me eating you out for a couple hours?”

            He takes Sam’s hungry kiss as a _hell yes._

_____

Sam had passed out the minute he finished wiping Dean’s thighs clean of lube and spunk.  Like, _passed out_ passed out.  It’s not often that Sam just drops out like that so fast, but Dean was worried for a moment that he’d actually fainted instead of just fallen into a deep sleep.

            Of course, with as slow and deep as he’s just fucked Dean, it shouldn’t come as all that much of a surprise. 

            It hadn’t started out as sex, at all.  Dean had been nearly dozing when Sam had come in from the library (where he’d spent most of the day) asked Dean if he wanted a back rub ( _hell yeah, Sammy, go for it_ ) and things had… escalated.  First Dean had gotten eaten out, fingered, and then rolled over onto his side with Sam behind him, huge and naked and hot, Dean’s left leg hauled up in the air as Sam’s cock had beaten the _crap_ out of his prostate.

            They hadn’t even gotten to cuddle after, Sam’s task had worn him out so much.  It’s just as well – Dean was _not_ expecting to finish the day like that, with a slow, close fuck that left his chest feeling light and his ass, well… pleasantly numb.

            But it hadn’t been enough to take his mind off of the mission he’d set for himself after that morning in the library four days ago.

            Sam had gotten off so fucking hard on the whole worship thing that Dean’s been thinking about it ever since, replaying years and years’ worth of sexual memories, taking time to find the times that Sam had completely and utterly lost it in bed, when Dean had made him blow so hard that no matter how good the motel cleaning staff was, there would be no removing Sam from the walls.

            It had taken some thought, but every time, every _single one of them,_ had been the cases where they’d had to play doctors.  Dean doesn’t particularly like hospitals themselves, and neither does Sam but… it’s got to be the look.  The certainty, the dedication, hell, maybe even the goddamn Hippocratic Oath – but Sam always gets this gleam in his eye when Dean has to put on a lab coat and scrubs.  Not once has Sam ever mentioned it out loud, but Dean isn’t exactly unobservant, and Sam’s really kind of bad at hiding things that turn him on that much.

            He waits for Sam to start snoring before he grabs Sam’s tablet off the bedside table, taps in the password, and nestles back so that his ass is pressed against the warm, soft hang of Sam’s cock.  Dean long ago decided that being the little spoon was worth it if this is what it felt like, and Sam sleeps a lot better if he knows he’s got Dean right there.

            Dean pulls Sam’s left arm a little tighter around him and opens up the browser.

            They share laptops all the time, but the tablet?  Sam’s alone, for the most part.  More than that, it’s the one thing that Sam saves just for himself, not research, not hacking, nothing – just for pleasure.  Dean feels a little guilty for breaking into it but he’s on a mission, a crucial one that’s going to _hopefully_ make Sam lose his fucking mind.

            It occurs to Dean after about thirty seconds that the screen of the tablet is sticky, and not with food detritus.

            What he finds in Sam’s web history confirms it, along with where Sam went for four solid hours yesterday.

            Dean’s touching the dried remnants of come and lube, and even though he just got the hell fucked out of him, it makes heat surge in his belly.  There’s a sudden, clear vision of Sam in his mind, laid out in the room he’s claimed for his own for alone time, naked and sweating, tablet propped on the bed as he works his cock.  Dean’s watched before, from start to finish, how Sam enjoys his own body.

            Sam’s all about overload, making his body reach its limit and then constantly dancing on that edge for as long as he can.  Sam focuses a lot on the head of his cock, right around the crown, his hand constantly bumping the underside so that each little touch is sweet, sharp agony.  Dean can understand that, especially since he’s uncut.  Dean tries to replicate it when he gives Sam a hand job but he can never quite master it like Sam does for himself, no matter how well Sam tells him he’s doing.

            But goddamn, what a fucking _sight_ his brother is, deep in the throes of ecstasy he creates for himself, both during and after.  The come on screen confirms that Sam had closed out the porn he was watching before he’d licked his fingers clean, savoring every fucking drop.  As many times as Sam’s body has been taken from him, Dean can’t really blame him for lapping it up after.  Whatever Sam doesn’t shoot into his mouth (he’s like a fucking firehose) will make it there eventually, and some of the best kisses Dean’s ever gotten from him have been after Sam’s jerked off and eaten his own load.

            That he shares it with Dean is just… mind-blowing.  He’s never begrudged Sam his alone time, knowing that it often does a world of good for him to be left alone with his own body for a while.

            Dean lets the warmth of those thoughts sink in as he digs a little deeper into just what the hell Sam was stroking to.

            So far as porn is concerned, Dean’s fairly straight forward: blowjobs, creampies, your classic, surefire stuff.  Naked skin is naked skin, as far as he’s concerned.  Does he have a thing for tall, hung tops?  Absolutely – that’s what he gets in real life.  No need to fix what isn’t broken

            Sam though?

            Sam’s tastes are… eclectic.

            Unsurprisingly, there’s a lot of doctors fucking their patients in the porn Sam watches.  Dean gets that, he really does.

            What interests him the most are the _kinky_ doctors fucking their patients.

            There’s one kink that Sam has that he _thinks_ Dean doesn’t know about, except Dean had it figured out a long time ago, and it’s one that Dean’s never once brought up because he hasn’t ever been sure how to ask.

            Sammy’s into sounding.

            _Really_ into sounding.

            Dean turns down the volume and brightness of the screen and pulls up the last scene Sam watched, turned on even more because this is what Sam blow his load. Dean watches attentively, watching the long, smooth metal rod slide into the “patient’s” cock, guided by the firm, steady hand of the “doctor.”  There’s a lot of focus on the head of the guy’s cock, his slit stretched almost obscenely, his face a mask of intense, completely unstaged pleasure.  Dean can see the opposite end of the sound moving under his skin, right down to where his prostate is.

            A lot of things start to make sense about Sam’s tastes just then, and Dean finds himself very suddenly armed with a _huge_ amount of knowledge.  Secret, special knowledge that maybe now, he can indulge in.  It’s not often they can surprise each other anymore, and this is a chance handed to him on a silver platter.

            Dean can see Sam stretched out on the table in the infirmary downstairs, naked and writhing as Dean opens his cock up, nice and slow so that he feels every little movement of the sound inside his dick.  Sam would be so insanely wet Dean wouldn’t even be able to hold onto it – it would just disappear into Sam’s body, hitting his sweet spot every time Dean stroked him.  Christ, it’s a white-hot vision, one that Dean very quickly sets to coming up with some way to make a reality.

            A reality not just for Sam, but for himself as well.  If he can do that for Sam, help him perfect his fantasy…

            Dean can’t think of what the feeling after that would be, but more than likely it would be yet another step deeper into just how badly they need the other around.  They both long ago stopped denying keeping themselves from each other, sometime before the bunker, before hell… everything after had just been figuring out how to make it work best.

            He closes out the screen and puts Sam’s tablet away, right as Sam stirs and gives Dean’s neck a sleepy kiss.

            “Whatcha doin’?”  Sam doesn’t move any further, still cuddled up to Dean’s back so tightly that he’s starting to sweat a little.

            “Research.”  Dean scoots himself down so that Sam’s nose is right behind his ear, and exhaustion finally starts to catch up with him.  It’s not hard to be sleepy with Sam acting as his own personal space heater, his words slurry and comfortable.

            “Bout what?”

            “We’ll talk about it later, alright?”

            He feels Sam nod, and it’s not ten seconds before he’s dead to the world again.

            Dean’s right behind him, smiling inward at just how fucking hard he’s going to make his little brother come.

___

            This isn’t the first, tenth, or even hundredth time they’ve indulged in roleplay.  Not a single time have they embarked on a mutual fantasy has Dean had a case of nerves as bad as this one.

            He feels strange, dressed like a successful doctor, complete with wingtips, lab coat, and fake glasses.  Add that to the plug keeping his ass nice and stretched and Dean feels like he’s created his own porn set.  Hell, maybe he has; if this goes well enough, he might be able to talk Sam into filming it.

            It wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened, either.  Dean’s managed to hold onto most of the good footage of them, and even though they don’t send each other dick pics or body shots that often, Dean has them backed up in redundancy.  Sam beats the hell out of Penthouse any day.

            He keeps nervously checking his phone, making absolutely sure his text sent – _meet me in the infirmary, and bring your imagination._ That had been five minutes ago and Sam’s still not down here yet.

            Setting all this up discretely had been a challenge.

            Getting the sounding set wasn’t hard.  Pay and pick overnight shipping on a credit card that isn’t his, get to their P.O. Box early enough the morning it came, and hide it until it was ready for use.  Cleaning the examination table wasn’t all that bad – but digging through the wardrobe for the exact outfit without Sam questioning him had been tricky.

            So Dean had kissed him hard enough to leave him breathless, and shooed him back to the library.  Promise him that there wasn’t anything going on, and then disappear down here until he was ready.  They haven’t had sex since the previous morning, so they’ve both had plenty of time to recharge.

            He checks the knot of his tie one more time and pulls on a pair of surgical gloves, getting the left one good and snug right as he hears a soft “Dean?”

            Dean bows his head, eyes closed – focus, Dean, _focus._ “Think you’re looking for someone else, Mr. Winchester.  No Dean here.”

            He swears he can here Sam’s mouth opening in surprise.  “Don’t seem to recall an appointment being made for me.”

            “No?”  Dean turns around and lets Sam get a long, hard look at him, from his perfectly mussed hair down to the extra bright shine of his shoes.  “Then why are you here?”

            Sam’s gaze falls on the set of sounds laying on the instrument tray, lined up perfectly where it stands next to the exam table.  His eyes get huge, dark, the first tell that he just got very, very turned on.  “I’m sorry Doctor, I _was_ supposed to be here today.”

            “Thought so.”  Dean walks over to Sam and stops an inch short of him, keeping his hands to himself just in case Sam wants to give this another few minutes of consideration.  He drops the character for just a moment, talking to Sam as Dean.  “You know how this goes, Sammy – the minute anything starts to feel wrong…”

            “Condor.”

            “Yeah.”  Dean closes the gap and kisses Sam sweetly, keeping himself close enough that he can feel the tension leave his body.  When he pulls back, he’s a doctor again.  “But if you’re comfortable enough to proceed, I need you to take your clothes off.”

            Sam smirks and makes a show of stripping off his t-shirt, crossing his arms to pull it up from the hem very, very slowly.  Dean clenches his fists to stop from reaching out and rubbing Sam’s abs.  He’s got to maintain a distance for now, until they can’t keep the pretense up anymore and it’s just Sam fucking the living daylights out of Dean.

            Which given how Sam looked at what Dean’s got set up, probably won’t be all that long from now.  He didn’t look in the least bit afraid, either.

            Dean’s got a feeling this won’t be the first time they play out this little scenario.

            At _all._

He turns his back as Sam unbuckles his belt and drops his pants, going to where Dean has the sounds laid out and triple checking them for stains or dust.  “So what exactly is it I can do for you today, Sam?”

            Sam lays down on the exam table, naked and so fucking _touchable,_ his cock hard and pointed towards Sam’s chin.  Christ, he got that way just seeing all this – Dean feigns professional disinterest as he stands at Sam’s left side.  “I need your help, Doctor.”  He’s ten miles of gorgeous, hard cut muscles, his chest hair and treasure trail looking almost delicately soft, at odds with the dark, heavy curls above his cock.

            “With?”  Dean picks up a tube of surgical lubricant and starts to wet the second smallest sound – something tells him that Sam wouldn’t even feel the first one.

            “It’s… it’s about my uh, sex life.  I think it could be better if…”  Sam’s trying hard to play along but he can’t do much more than stare at Dean and keep reaching for his cock.  It’s incredibly erotic, watching Sam that get worked up over how he’s dressed.  Dean smooths his hand over Sam’s forehead, calming him so that he can keep going.

            Sam exhales and closes his eyes.  “I want to do more for my partner, Doc.”

            “How so, Sam?”  Dean has to force his voice to be stable, leaning in to make sure he catches every word.

            The corners of Sam’s mouth turn up in a smile born from the memory of a thousand hot nights, tongue darting out to taste his lips.  “He bottoms a lot for me – almost exclusively.  Been that way for as long as I can remember, even though at first I thought it would be the other way around.”  Sam opens his eyes again, looking past the character Dean’s playing.

            “Keep talking,” Dean says, tearing his eyes away from Sam’s so that he can lube up the tip of Sam’s now leaking cock.

            “He likes it when I breed him.  His ass, his mouth – he just… fuck, he wants my fucking come.”  Sam stops breathing, watching Dean tease the end of the sound over his weeping slit.  “And… and it kills me every time because he’s not doing it for show, he’s doing it because he fucking _loves_ it.”

            _Damn right I do, baby boy, you don’t have_ any _idea._ “And you want to do that better for him… how.”

            “Want you to open up my cock, Doctor.  Make it so that I can seed him so full it leaks out of him for a week.  It’s… it’s our anniversary soon and…”

            Wait.

            Anniversary?

            Oh.

            Dean’s fortieth birthday.

            Which will make it…

            Shit, twenty one years to the day that he first kissed his little brother.

            Twenty one years since he was ruined for anyone else, not matter how hard he tried to tell himself at first that he wasn’t, that he could let Sam go and he could have a life and Dean could…

            “And I want it to be special.  Because it’s not just…”  Sam reaches up and turns Dean’s face towards his, rubbing his cheek with the warm, full expanse of his fingers.  “It’s not just sex.  Even when we’re fucking each other’s brains out it’s…”

            “Like something deeper is reaching out and touching him?”  Dean can barely get the words out, his body lit up with the ghost of that feeling, the feeling that’s never really faded since that first sweet, forbidden kiss.

            Sam nods, and Dean waits for him to speak next.  Dean can’t, too caught up in _Sam._

“All I want to do is give him the best I can, Doc.  Show him how much he means to me, and…”

            Dean isn’t sure who leans in for the kiss first, but meeting in the middle nearly brings him to his knees.  Sam’s mouth tastes just as sweet now as it did on that winter day, like hot chocolate and the distinct spice that belongs only to him, combined into something so terribly addictive that Dean could never hope to get clean of it even if he wanted to.  Sam tries to sit up and pull him into his lap, the fantasy having lost its hold on him so that it’s just them now, Sam and Dean, nothing and no one else.

            But Dean lured him down here for a purpose, and he’s going to stuff his brother’s cock full before this is over.

            Dean breaks the kiss, sighing as Sam’s hands run all over his body.  “Don’t think that you are _ever_ not enough for me, Sammy, because… Sam, I can’t…” He pushes his tongue back into Sam’s mouth, one hand on his cock and the other running through his hair.  He can’t tell Sam, not now, but he can damn well show him.

            Sam bites at his lip and lets himself be pushed back down, grabbing his cock and squeezing it in such a way that he should be fucking _paid_ to do it.  “You gonna rod my cock, Dean?”

            “Goddamn right I am, baby.”  Dean pushes his glasses up his nose and finally, _finally_ lines up the fatter end of the sound with Sam’s slit, watching with honest to God fascination as it slides into Sam’s body purely from gravity until it’s disappeared completely.

            When he looks back to Sam’s face, he’s flushed scarlet with the barrage of completely new sensations, all the way down to his chest.  “Sam?”

            “Feels… fuck, Dean, feels so fuckin’ _good.”_

Dean had taken the time to watch a couple of those videos in full, and he takes off the gloves before he reaches for Sam’s balls.  “Knew it would, Sammy.”  He wraps his fingers around Sam’s cock, feeling the sound moving underneath his skin – bumping the end of it where it’s touching Sam’s prostate makes his back arch, and for a second Dean thinks he’s hurt him.

            “ _Do it again.”_

            “Where?”

            Sam takes Dean’s hand and guides him to the space between his balls and hole, making him press inward.  “Right… fuck, Dean, right _there.”_

Dean does as he’s told, rubbing on that spot as he watches Sam fall apart.  “Knew you’d fucking love it, Sammy.”  He leans down to lick up the precome beaded at the tip of his cock, tasting the faintest hint of metal behind it.  “Fuckin’ love your big brother doing this, don’t you?”

            Sam nods, his fingers squeezing Dean’s forearm.  “Get… get the next size up.”

            “Shit, Sammy, you sure?”

            The look Sam gives him doesn’t leave much room for argument.

            Sam helps him get the sound out, bending his cock forward so that the change in angle pushes it up.  Dean grabs it and licks it clean, maintaining eye contact the whole time as he lubes up the next sound and re-slicks Sam’s cock, the slit already opened wider than normal.  God, he’s ragingly hard in his pants right now, trying not to let the plug move around too much – he’s going to come with Sam’s cock in his ass, and not sooner.

            This time, the sound is long enough to where it can rest against Sam’s sweet spot and Dean is still left with enough to move in and out, the smooth end stretching Sam’s cock almost painfully wide.  Sam thrashes, muscles bunching and relaxing, sweat starting to drip from his every pore.

            Fuck all if it isn’t the sexiest thing he’s ever seen.

            “That’s it, Dean, just… fuck, like that.  Get my cock open for you.  Swear I’m gonna pump you so full of come you’ll drip for a month, shit, oh, shit, _Dean-”_ Sam’s mouth runs and runs, and Dean listens to every fucking word, every sweet syllable of filth that pours from his lips.  He has to keep stopping to kiss Sam, has to taste the desperation, the sweat, the _need._ He’s got Sam high on pain-pleasure, tensing with Sam every time the sound slides back into his rock hard cock, relaxing when he pulls it out and gives him a second to breathe.

Yet, it’s Dean that breaks first, not because Sam needs him to stop.

            No, Dean fucking _needs_ Sam inside him right now, and it can’t be soon enough.

            He goes for another kiss, and this time Sam starts tearing at his clothes, the sound still in his cock where Dean left it.  He sits up and pushes the lab coat off of his shoulders, fucking Dean’s mouth with his tongue as he yanks off the tie and tears Dean’s shirt open, buttons pinging off the floor and wall behind him.  Dean groans when Sam’s hands grope his nipples, leaving Dean to get his pants off without breaking the flow.  Dean’s thankful he didn’t bother with underwear, even more so when Sam reaches around to cup his ass and bump the plug.

            “Fuck, Dean is that…”

            “Wanted to be ready, Sam.”  Dean has to bite down on Sam’s shoulder as he removes it, leaving him feeling almost painfully empty.

            That feeling doesn’t last long, though.

            “Get on the table, Dean.”  Sam pulls the sound out of himself and yanks Dean’s shoes off, leaving him in nothing but the glasses and calf-hugging, tall black socks.  “Show me that hole.”

            Dean throws his legs up in the air and pulls his cheeks apart, circling the stretched rim with his thumb and forefinger.  “Gonna fill me up, little brother?”

            “Goddamn right I am.”  Sam reaches for the lube and coats himself with it, and then applies what has to be the rest of the tube to Dean.  “Fuck, Dean, your hole…”

            “Plenty of time to look later.”  He hooks his left foot behind Sam’s neck and pulls him down, shutting him up with a sloppy, wet kiss that turns rough the second Sam starts to push his now stupidly thick cock into his body.  God, if he’d known that sounding would get Sam to this place, this crazy, need-to-fuck-or-I’ll-die state sooner, he’d have asked sooner.  He likes this Sam, his eyes blown wide and dark with lust, muscles pulled so tight that every single fucking vein in his body stands out.

            Yeah, next time they’re _definitely_ filming it.

            Sam doesn’t work Dean up to it this time – he just _goes._ He stays curled over Dean’s body, his arms keeping Dean bracketed, blotting out everything around them so that all Dean sees is Sam, feels the sweat dripping off his body every time he slams back into Dean’s ass.  Every kiss is felt more deeply than the one before it, bruising Dean’s mouth and leaving him chasing Sam’s, only to be shoved back down so that Sam can fuck him harder, deeper, _better._

Huh.  Better.  

            Like Sam has _ever_ not given Dean everything he has, far more than Dean’s ever felt like he deserved from him. 

            Dean removes his hands from Sam’s waist and puts them on his face, thumbs stroking over his cheeks.  He brings Sam close to him, mouths just barely touching, eyes open so that Sam is nearly out of focus.

            “Do you like it when I worship you, Sam?”

            Sam shudders, and Dean knows he’s pushed that last, powerful button.

            “ _Yes.”_

Just as suddenly, Sam is gone, body bent double as he contorts himself to suck the head of Dean’s cock into his mouth, hips thrown forward to keep fucking Dean as hard as he can – it’s completely, totally insane but Dean doesn’t stop to question it, his vision whiting out as he comes in Sam’s mouth, lasting an eternity until there’s nothing left of him, screaming Sam’s name in an exultation worthy of David.

            The worshiper becomes the worshiped, and Dean opens his eyes just in time to watch Sam slam his orgasm deep into Dean’s body, _feeling_ Sam’s cock pumping into him.  Sam’s got come running down his chin and neck, a beautiful, perverse version of a God that for a long time, Dean didn’t think existed.

              Sam surges and holds Dean’s mouth steady as he lets Dean’s load drip from his tongue, his lips shiny and swollen from sucking him off.  When the last strand disconnects, Sam’s chasing it with a kiss and pulling Dean up to him, locking their bodies together so that not a damn thing can get between them. 

            He feels like he’s floating, and the only thing keeping him with the reach of gravity is Sam’s tongue and body, dipping in and out of his mouth over and over again, lapping up the come that’s dripped down their chins.  It’s intensely intimate, amplified by the slick feeling between Dean’s legs as he shifts and realizes he’s sitting in a puddle of Sam’s come where it’s run out of him.

            “Sammy, can…”

            Sam lifts him bodily and down to the floor they go, Dean cradled in his lap against the base of the examination table.  “Dean, I…”

            “I know, Sammy. Me too.” 

            Sam kisses him, and this time it’s almost _too_ tender.  Dean waits for the drop that always comes after it gets too intense – but it never does.  Sam doesn’t let go of him, as much for his sake as Dean’s.

            “Hey, Dean?” Sam’s voice is a prayer, quiet against the heated atmosphere that still lingers in the room around them.

            “Right here, Sammy.”  He nuzzles Sam’s neck and tucks himself up against his shoulder as well as he can, exhausted down to his bones.

            “Thank you.  This was… I needed it.”

            “We both did.”  Dean kisses his neck and ear, unable to help getting one last little moan out of him.  “And any time you need this, however you need it – you tell me.  Nothing makes me feel better than make _you_ feel good, Sammy, you know that.”

            Sam nods, turning his head away so that Dean can’t see the tears brimming in his eyes.  “Yeah.”

            Those tears of joy, as it turns out, are contagious.

           

           

           

           

           

           

           

           

           

           

           

           

           

           

           


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